Cursed
by amieofabc
Summary: Faye has been told all her life that she is a cursed child. Will the handsome Viscomte think the same? Somewhat unrequieted Raoul/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there! Allow me to give you some quick background on me and this story (if you want it). I am currently in the chorus of a production of Phantom of the Opera and am dating the fine young man who is playing Raoul. That said, I know it sounds like a Mary Sue. And maybe it is, just a little. But hopefully it's a good, entertaining Mary Sue and I don't inject myself in. I'm REALLY trying not to. Bear with me, we had to do character bios and when I was done I decided I wanted to do a full-blown story with mine, I hope you enjoy it!**

It is October 13th, 1864 and a Friday. A cursed day. From a straw bed in the middle of a small house near Paris, a woman with rebelliously short, dark hair and green eyes is dying as she brings life into the world. Her husband, Alexander, weeps over her blood-soaked, lifeless body and lets his sister, Lynne, hold his newborn daughter. He tells his son, Aaron to leave the room before explaining to Lynne that he cannot raise the girl. "It's cursed." he growls in a hushed tone, "I can't raise the demon who took my wife from me, it looks too much like her."

Lynne protests, tells him she can't possibly support a child, and besides, whatever would her fellow church-goers think, her of all people raising a child without a husband, and a demon at that! But he's her brother, and she of all people would know just how deeply bound by family ties we all are. She takes the child with her, and names it Faye.

Four years later she can't take it anymore. Faye is no different from any other four-year-old (save for a spiraling birthmark just above her right elbow and a strange aptitude for reading and writing), but Lynne has no experience dealing with children and it's all too much. So she prays Alexander has come to a different understanding of life and will take his daughter-demon or not-back.

She has no such luck. When she arrives, bright-faced as she can muster, her brother is drunk as they get. When he does finally recognize why the two of them are at his home, he flies into a rage, screaming at them to get out. "She's nothing but a cursed child, born on a cursed day!" he shouts, stabbing a finger in Faye's small face. "She took my Carol from me, why would I want her? Why would anybody want her?"

After they leave, Faye is simply confused. It is the first time she has ever seen her father, and she knows he was angry at her. Why had he been angry? She hadn't ever met him, what could she have done to him? She writes down the words he shouted at her. Maybe it'll give her some clue.

For the next three years following that day, Lynne notices a change. Faye becomes withdrawn, and intensely so. In fact, some at her school wonder if she is a mute. They stop wondering the first time she attends church. The actual message of the sermon never reaches her, but she sings along with the hymns with more enthusiasm than most have ever heard from one so young. And they have a difficult time believing a creature with such an angelic voice could be a demon.


	2. Chapter 2

I am fourteen years old and terrified. My professor was glaring at me with an intensity I'd rarely seen, and it was making my knees shake. "For the love of all that is good, Faye," he hissed, "speak up!" he still didn't understand that I couldn't speak up. I shook my head quickly. "If you do not answer this question in a manner that allows the entire class to hear you, I will ask you to leave this establishment." he was trying to help me, to give me a calm warning before he called in a storm, but it wasn't working at all. He drew himself up and sighed. "No?"

My eyes stung and I blinked back what was coming. "Then I'll ask you to leave. Now. And don't bother coming back in the morning this time, you've shown insolence one too many times."

My head snapped up in shock. "You...you're expelling me?" my voice cracked between a mutter and a whisper.

He opened the door behind him. "You have shown an extreme reluctance to participate in class, I see no point in furthering your education. Now get out."

My heart seemed to simoultaneously sink into my stomach and leap into my throat. My education had been carelessly tossed away by this man. Any hope I'd had for real, steady work was gone, my life almost instantly ruined. And once again, I had no words. I scooped up my bag and stepped numbly outside. What was there to do? I couldn't tell Lynne, she'd be scandalized (not that that'd be saying much, but this would be over the edge), and people already give her enough trash for not being married. But how would I hide it? Where would I go all day, and what would I do to support her? To support myself? A gust of wind suddenly took hold of my hat, carrying it across the street. Seeing it lying there brim up gave me an idea.

Singing doesn't bother me. If it's by myself or in front of a thousand people, I don't care. I haven't got a clue as to why that is, but maybe it's because I don't have to come up with anything on my own. Music gives you what words to say, how loudly or softly to say them, even what pitch. It's easy, and it earns money as I learned the next day. I didn't know many songs, mostly hymns and lullabies, but I added a few notes here and there to make them longer. It must've worked, the people on the street stopped in front of me for longer than other performers I'd seen when I was very small.

For almost a month, I sang outside the marketplace without anything too out of the ordinary happening, which was fine by me. I earned a better wage there than when I did laundry for the wealthier citizens. Sometimes one of the altar boys from the church would drop a piece of sheet music in my hat so they could hear me sing it. Aunt Lynne never noticed a thing out of place, and as long as business went well, I was happy. The sting of expulsion is less potent when it frees you up to do something you enjoy.

It wasn't until the weather began turning cold that I hit a snag. Nobody wanted to be outside anymore, when they were they shuffled quickly by without pausing. Furthermore, the cold air was wreaking havoc on my voice, and I couldn't stay outside for hours on end anymore. The day the snow started I decided it was time to pack up for the season. Disgruntled, I bent down to shake the white powder off my hat. When I straightened back up, I found myself staring into a man's face. "Sir!" I gasped, startled. "You gave me a fright, I didn't think anybody would be out."

He lowered his eyes apologetically. Brown eyes they were, I noticed. "You're right, most people would be indoors on a day like this." he brushed a few snowflakes out of the thick, brown hair that covered his head as if to prove his point.

"Then why is it you're out here?" I attempted a smile and failed when a fat flake stung my eye.

"To be honest, I was trying to find you." he said.

"How do you-"

"I've listened to you almost every day. I wanted to talk to you, but there was always such a crowd. I figured that wouldn't be a problem now. Were you leaving?"

I was taken aback. "I-yes, I was going to leave until Spring. It's pointless to stand and freeze when nobody's there." I paused, then the first half of what he'd said sunk in. "Wait, why did you want to talk to me?"

He shrugged. "You seemed interesting. And I never got a chance to give you this." he dug into his coat pocket and dropped more than a fair amount of coins into my hat. "I hope that makes up for six weeks of watching, I just never wanted to interrupt you."

Again, I was shocked. "Sir, this is very generous. Thank you."

"No trouble at all." he said with a grin. "I won't make you wait in the cold any longer, please do get somewhere warm. I hope we meet again someday."

I nodded. "I hope so as well." I turned to walk away.

"Wait, miss-" I halted. "I'm so sorry, but could I ask your name?"

"Faye." I said simply. "Yours?"

"Raoul."

And without another word, I vanished into the storm.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'M SORRY. This took far longer than expected to write, and now it's so short...you see, the madness that is dress rehearsals has begun in the production of Phantom that I am currently in, so time for writing became limited. Enjoy it anyway!**

I am sixteen, Raoul is twenty. We've met up almost every day since that blizzard, though the conversation is never very extensive between my general unwillingness to speak and his tendency to be overpolite. Lynne was indeed shocked when she found out about school (well I had to tell her), but when she saw how much I'd saved, she shut up. It took a lot of work off her hands, and she was grateful even if she didn't show it. Eventually she starts teaching me new songs.

I am seventeen and I don't see much of Raoul anymore. One day when he says goodbye I know it will be more permanent than the other times, that it will be months at least before I see him again, if ever. I cry that night, for reasons I don't want to fathom. He isn't somebody I should form attachments to, no matter how handsome or friendly he is.

My songs take on a darker key; according to the regulars I sound sadder. I truly don't mean to, but business takes a hit because of it. In fact, by the time winter begins to roll around again I'm having having five or six empty days-days where not a single coin ends up in the hat-in a row. It's time to head inside for the season, but I decide to give it one more day. Four people bustle by without pausing, and I know some can hear me across the way, but none care.

Then I notice the woman in black. She's maybe fifteen yards away, and I can't see her clearly through the snow and the fact that the wind is swirling her dark scarves. But she herself is perfectly still, simply watching me. There is something like an aura around her that unnerves me though, and when she begins to approach me after the song ends, I almost think of running.

"Child-" she acknowledges me with a tilt of her head and I try not to cringe at the word she used to address me. Judging my the make of her dress, she's got money to spare. Money I need. "You have a lovely voice, did you know that?" Before I can answer she waves the question away. "But of course, you do. Who trained you?"

I blunder. "I-I was never trained, Madame." I catch a glimpse of her face, enough to see an eyebrow raise.

"In that case, I believe you should be. Tell me, do you know of the Opera Populaire?"

_Did I know of the Opera Populaire? _Oh, the number of times I'd walked by that grand building, wondering what it must be like inside, what a haven it would be for actors and singers... "Yes, madame, quite well."

A small smile quirked on her face. "I am Madame Antoinette Giry, the head choreographer there. We have dorms available to house exceptional talent, and you, I think, have exceptional talent." She took my hand. "Where is your guardian?"

Three hours of...shall we say, interesting...conversation later, I was packing my things into a carriage. (Madame Giry was even more stubborn than Aunt Lynne or I wouldn't have been able to go.) It was understood that I would very rarely see Lynne again, that I might not ever get a lead role in a production, and that my starting salary would be miniscule, but I didn't care. The chance to perform alongside professionals was not one I was going to pass up.

I wouldn't find out until it was too late what horrors the decision would entail.


	4. Chapter 4

**I...am so very sorry. This is SO very late, and I don't really have any excuse besides emotional distress...anywho, I am writing again, so hopefully these gaps between chapters won't happen anymore.**

There are far too many people to keep track of here between the chorus, the orchestra, the stagehands, the leads, the dancers, and the costumers, but since I only have to interact with a few, I don't bother to learn the names of anybody besides the leads, the instructors, and a few dancers. There are two that fascinate me- Madame Giry's daughter, Meg, and Christine Daae- because I can't remember seeing two closer people in my life, but the only ones that have any prospect of being a friend are a fellow chorus girl named Rachael, a dancer named Tyron, and the man who runs the curtains, Jacob. Sometimes after rehearsal I stay up and talk with them. I've been isolated by the curse of my birthday long enough that talking to people my own age seems strange to me. Rachael, for example, doesn't seem to think much of herself. True, she's rather short and a little chubby, but she has an amazing voice and most men wouldn't turn down a girl with such pretty blonde hair. I gave up trying to convince of her that quick enough though, she's stubborn as hell.

Tyron is short as well, but years of training under Madame Giry's sharp eye has stripped him of anything resembling fat. He jokes almost nonstop and treats Jacob like a brother. (although Jacob's wiry build and black hair gives away the lack of shared blood) It's hard to trust someone who's always happy though, experience has taught me that a smile hides tears. And for somebody whose job is to remain unseen by the crowd, Jacob is the most gregarious of them all. If nothing else, I can count on getting the wind knocked out of me by one of his hugs when I walk onstage. He's probably the closest thing I've ever had to a sibling, and I think these people may be the best part of this job. The job itself is more demanding than I could've imagined. I'm still not used to having a schedule, to people telling me what songs to sing. I'm not used to other voices surrounding mine.

And I'm most certainly not used to Italian divas.

La Carlotta Giudicelli was the first cast member I was introduced to. I was utterly honored for a total of five seconds, then terrified. She is the most unpredictable person-although "person" doesn't fully describe it, more like "force of nature"-I've ever met. Most of the time I don't even see her face, just hear the heavily accented shriek of her voice and a whirl of color as she flies out, Piangi always close behind, begging in Italian like a puppy for her to return. It'd be entertaining if it weren't so annoying because it interrupts our rehearsal time, sometimes for hours. Most people read to pass the time, but Lynne didn't keep many books around, so I end up sitting onstage, humming to myself or chatting with Jacob.

Finally, one day I suppose Tyron grew tired of seeing me bored and snuck into my room, carrying a flat, white box. "What is this?"

He grinned. "Just open it."

I did, and found a thick pad of good paper, six pencils, a rubber eraser, and a sharpener. "Oh...Ty, you didn't need to do this for me. I mean, I appreciate it, but-"

"Faye, shut up. I know you're bored, and hey, you might just have a knack for sketching. You never know." he smiled again and walked out.

He was right, I enjoyed drawing the other cast members. We were beginning dress rehearsals for what would be my first time performing in a show, a production of "Hannibal", and it was interesting to draw faces that were covered in makeup. The first sketch I was proud of was one of Carlotta, it had taken me ages to get her eyebrows right since they were so often lost in her hair.

In short, I settled into life at the Opera Populaire very well until the ballet girls' gossip proved true for once and the new managers took over. It was then that I learned of the Phantom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey. So I realize my Managers are going to be a little off in this chapter, I have a tough time remembering which one is which :P But hopefully they're still recognizable. Enjoy!**

We were rehearsing the scene where slave girls announce the coming of Hannibal. It was Carlotta's favorite scene because it started with the focus on her and the costume for the attractive man playing the slave driver didn't require anything covering his torso-not that she'd ever admit to staring at him, not while Piangi was around. We all huffed when Piangi mispronounced "Rome" for the umpteenth time, but cleared our throats for another take. The dancers were performing well today, with the exception of Meg Giry's friend, Christine Daae, who was terribly distracted and must've missed five cues.

We were obnoxiously happy to finally finish the scene, to the point where Madame Giry had to bang her cane with a stern look to get us to shut up. Monsieur Lefevre, our manager, thanked her and stepped forward. "Recently, there have been rumors circulating about my imminent retirement. I am here to tell you these are all true-" here the ballet girls burst into nervous chatter- "-and to introduce to you to the new owners of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Gilles Andre, and Monsieur Richard Firmin." I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of of the two men. Andre was the taller of the pair, with a round face and greying hair. Firmin was nearly bald and seemed anxious.

Their heads turned when Carlotta cleared her throat (although theirs were the only ones) as if to remind Lefevre who was really important around here. He quickly introduced Piangi before nodding at her. "And this is La Carlotta Giudicelli, our leading soprano for fifteen seasons." she giggled in a nauseating kind of way.

"Of course, I've experienced all your greatest roles, Signora." said one of them, a chorus member blocked my view of which one.

"If I recall correctly," said the other one, whoever it was, "Elissa has a rather fine aria in act three. I wonder, would you be so kind as to give us a private rendition?"

Carlotta beamed from ear to ear. "If my managers command. Maestro?"

Monsieur Reyer jumped, but quickly recovered. "If my diva commands. Will two bars be sufficient introduction?"

Firmin nodded. "Two bars should be quite sufficient."

We all took a few steps back as the pianist began the introduction to the aria. Looking back, we should've noticed the slight creaking in the rafters, but we were all busy imitating Carlotta, so nearly everyone was scared witless when a rather heavy piece of scenery came crashing down on top of her. We heard Meg Giry cry out over the other screams- "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!"

Those words set off the ballet girls chattering excitedly again, and, for reasons unknown, sent a chill up my spine. Monsieur Lefevre was beside himself, frantically shouting "Buquet! Buquet, he's the one responsible for all this, Buquet! For god's sake, man, what is going on up there?"

Joseph Buquet, the stagehand, came running onto the center of the scaffold carrying a few pieces of rope and looking flustered. "Please, Monsieur, don't look at me! As god's my witness, I was not at my post." a few people rolled their eyes as if Buquet slacking was to be expected. "Please, Monsieur, there's no one there, and if there is-" his voice took on a mischievous tone and he grinned wickedly- "well then, it must be a ghost!"

More whispers and calls of "He's here!" erupted. Andre gave us all a disapproving glance and shouted- "Good heavens, I have never known such insolence!" It was Firmin who noticed how furious Carlotta's expression was.

"Oh, Signora, please, these things...well, they do happen."

The chorus gasped in unison. Poor Firmin was new, didn't know what he'd landed himself in with that statement. All we could do was sit quietly and watch it all unfold. She was gathering steam and grinding her teeth, but it wouldn't be long before she exploded. "These...things do happen?" she stepped forward, the dancers sprang back. "What do you know? YOU 'AVE BEEN HERE FIVE MINUTES!" Her accent was on, full force. "Si. These things do 'appen, all the time. For the past THREE YEARS these things do 'appen, and did YOU-" she thrust a finger at LeFevre- "stop them 'appening? NO! AND YOU TWO!" she rounded on Andre and Firmin- "You are as bad as him! These things do happen? Well...until you stop these...things 'appening, THIS thing does NOT 'appen!" she whirled to poor Piangi, who was cowering with the rest of us. "Ubaldo...andiamo."

She whirled out of the theatre as only she could do, parting the cast like the Red Sea as she went. Piangi followed quickly, but not before turning to them and muttering pointedly: "Amateurs."

I turned to Jacob as the managers dithered over Carlotta and LeFevre. "What happened with the scenery? Was it the curtain? And what was Meg going on about? Something about a Phantom?" He looked at me as though shocked, or he'd forgotten to tell me something. He opened his mouth to answer when Madame Giry stomped onstage.

"La Carlotta will be back, won't she?" Andre asked nervously.

"You think so, Monsieur?" Giry answered coyly, holding up an envelope sealed with thick, red wax. "I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost."

"Oh, god in heaven, you're all obsessed." Firmin muttered.

Giry simply shrugged. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house-"

"_His _opera house?"

"-commands that you leave Box Five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due."

The words all spun in my head. So this Phantom, or Opera Ghost, or whatever his name was wasn't something Meg and the ballet girls had invented, or an imaginary gremlin like the ones Aunt Lynne made up to blame when things went badly. He was some kind of mysterious official who created chaos and sent letters and believed he owned the Opera Populaire. Why had nobody told me earlier?

"His _salary_?"

Again, she shrugged. "Monsieur LeFevre gave him 20,000 francs a month. But perhaps you can afford more? I mean, now that the Viscount de Chagny is your patron-"

"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement myself when the Viscount was to join us for the gala. But apparently we shall now have to cancel as it appears we have lost our star!" A Viscount in the audience? I'd never really performed before anyone of rank. "A full house, Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"

That was when Meg stepped forward. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir!" The chorus glanced around in confusion. None of us had ever heard Christine sing on her own. We knew she was a lovely dancer and a funny girl, but to take on the role of Elissa? It was prepostorous. The managers seemed just as hesitant to take her on.

"What, a chorus girl?"

"Well, she's been taking lessons from a great teacher!" said Meg, brightly, pushing a terrified-looking Christine forward.

"Oh, and from who?" Andre asked.

Christine stepped forward. "I don't know, sir." she was so timid all of a sudden, as if the Phantom incident had truly shaken her.

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur." the voice came from Madame Giry, but none of us wanted to believe she'd said it. "She has been well taught." we all knew Giry didn't think much of our vocal instructor, and besides, Christine knew his name. What were they talking about?

Andre sighed. "From the beginning of the aria then, mademoiselle."


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you want to tell me what the hell that was?" I would've shouted if I could've at Jacob as I came out of the dressing room. We were to go on in fifteen minutes with Christine as our new lead (she'd been phenomanal), but I needed to speak with our Jacob, who'd been avoiding me all day, about what he knew of the incident with Carlotta.

"By which you mean...?"

"You know what I mean, Jacob. You run curtain, it's your job to know what goes on backstage, now who is the Phantom? It seems like everyone knows but me!"

He glanced around anxiously. "Faye, it's not a short story and we have little time. If I promise to tell you afterwards, will you get into place now?"

He was right, much as I hated to admit it. "Fine. But don't dodge out on me again."

The opera went as rehearsed, which was to say uneventfully. The audience liked the story and loved Christine. It wasn't until Act Three that I glanced at Box Five and noticed that, not only was it not empty as the Phantom had instructed, but that the man seated there was familiar to me.

Raoul.

Raoul had returned.

Raoul was a Viscomte? I supposed that explained how well he'd paid me. I almost couldn't concentrate on the show, twice I was elbowed in the ribs for missing a cue. By the time it all ended I was a bundle of nerves and confusion.

"Faye?" oh, that voice. I'd been so resigned to thinking I'd never hear it again, but why not have one more surprise today?

"Raoul! Oh, you've come back!" I flung my arms around him without hesitation. We'd only embraced once before, on the day he'd left, but it was unmistakably him, solid and warm and _real._

"You've grown bolder." he laughs, returning the hug. "I searched all the street corners for you! I suppose I should've guessed you'd end up here. My, tonight's full of surprises."

"How so?" I can't believe how bright I sound, how...cheerful. Has my voice ever sounded like this?

"There was a second shadow of my past in your cast tonight, your star, Miss Daae."

What? "Christine? You know her?"

He laughed. "You could say we were childhood sweethearts. Yes, I knew her very well."

For reasons unknown a pit settled in my stomach at the word "sweethearts". I pushed the thought away. "I-I see. Well she is lovely. I suppose you'll want to talk to her now."

His face lights up like I've never seen. "You suppose she'd see me? You think she remembers me?"

I swallow, my throat's mysteriously closed up. "You're a hard man to forget."

"Then I shall hope for the best. Thank you, Faye, I will visit you soon!"

And with that I've lost him again. I can only hope he'll make good on his promise of a visit. On my way to the dressing room I remembered Jacob's promise to tell me about the Phantom. Curiosity rising once again, I dove behind the curtains.

* * *

><p>"I never can hide from you." he muttered when I yanked him out towards my room.<p>

"I told you not to dodge out on me again. Now talk." I plopped him on the bed next to me.

"Rude girl. But you really should know...you hang around the ballet girls, you must know who they blame when things go wrong, right?"

"The Phantom."

"Exactly. That's all it was at first, a myth. Something to joke about when you had a bad day. But then stranger things began happening, things we REALLY couldn't explain. The girls who told the really bad stories about the Phantom or made too many jokes...well they had this tendency to get injured, badly. And it was always some stupid, freaky accident, like a board just flipping up in the middle of a dance, or like you saw today with the scenery. But even then we chalked it up to some kind of coincidence. Until the notes started coming."

"The notes?"

"You remember the letter Madame Giry got today? The one about his salary and the box?"

"Yes, of course."

"He sends those out whenever he wants something. We don't know how he does it, but then we know just about nothing of him. We dunno where he lives-though I think he kips under the stages, in the tunnels. He knows this place better than anyone, probably because he's never left it. I've caught glimpses of him, or what I thought was him, but never more than a shadow, a movement through dark. Some people think he's the one been training Miss Daae, but I don't buy it. She's just as silly as all them ballet girls, she'd be too scared out of her wits to take lessons from him. Although it would explain a bit."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes when it's late, if you stand in the right spots and stay real quiet you can hear this music. HIS music, I think. It's beautiful, but...it belongs in the tunnels. Just like everything else about him. I best be getting to bed, Faye, that's all I know about the Phantom."

I blinked in surprise. "Right, yeah. G'night."

I spent the night trying to draw Raoul, but the shapes wouldn't stop twisting themselves into phantom features of a monster I now had to believe in.


End file.
